She strolled the streets; in an attempt to travel the world,
She conquered the 'right' kinda love, when she fell in love with a girl,
Paper -to people her age- can either be wrote on, or rolled,
and in a generation where mums can't afford food or heating,
They constantly question her generation for being so cold.
Its not her fault she had to grow up this way,
Yet she gets lectured on her traits, every single. fucking. day,
The girl who stares back at her from the mirror is strange,
And looking at her life, she's starting to think that girl was short changed.
But she's told that being sixteen means you don't know many things,
What you think is real, is nothing more than a dream,
'Life for her' to them, must gleam,
Because for some reason, its like they cant hear her screams.
She sees perfection in solid things that stand alone,
She hears the sound of hope; pulsating through her headphones,
At school you don't notice these things because she's never out shown,
Oh, but if only you saw this broken girl when she's at home...
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